[ TEXT ] SENDING OUT AN S.O.S. TO THE WORLD

[goddamngrenades]

Quick Check in for Members of Project Freelancer, the UNSC, and our mutual associates- or anyone that wants to get word out about themselves having changed or not changed or...whatever. Has questions? This is Agent York and Delta, so far we're unaffected by this time ripple thing. Connie, North, Wash, Grif, Chief, Theta, Cortana, Locus, Azucar, Parker, Pidge, Fareeha, Amélie - and anyone else I'm forgetting, shoot me a text back, alright?

I'll deliver pancakes and blankets or other care package items if needed. If you'd rather come talk in person swing by my habitat, I'll be hanging in the bar. Directions are below. Also, Jason- buddy? Swing by, I feel like I owe you a beer.

[ In neat green lines there's a little holographic map showing how to get to York's dive bar from the recipient's current location, wherever they might be. ]

Specific refreshments are available upon request.

Comments

[nofortunateson]

Hah. Now you have some ammunition for when I'm older again. Herzlichen Glückwunsch.

[He stretches out on the roof, folding his arms back behind his head, strangely comfortable despite it all. Taylor is the first person to actively come looking for him, and honestly, the company's not horrible.]

[goddamngrenades]

I don't know German, bro.

[ He nudges North gently with his elbow as he settles back. This almost feels normal and that makes it less surreal. Somewhat.

Not enough that he's completely comfortable, but more than enough for him to be settled. ]

You eaten yet?

[nofortunateson]

It means 'congrats.'

[He shrugs at the question, because he's not too hungry? Then again he's figured out flight and force-bubbles since he woke up this morning - and has some of the scrapes to show for his field-testing of both - so it's possible the lingering adrenaline is keeping his from feeling the full force of how ravenous he actually should be.]

Here and there?

[goddamngrenades]

...Right. You're packing it in on a good day when you're grown, I can't imagine how much you eat when you're growing. Come on, lemme take you to my habitat, I'll cook you something.

[ Familiar comfort food. It might help. Ish? Maybe? If the kid listens. ]

[nofortunateson]

You cook?

[Not what he expected out of super-secret-military-ops superhero, but hey. He'll take food if it's being offered. Gabriel rolls to his feet, dusting off the seat of his jeans and looking over the edge of the roof for a considering moment, judging the height of the drop.]

[goddamngrenades]

Sometimes. [ Taylor rolls to his feet and walks to the edge of the roof- and makes like he's going to walk right off. ]

Come on, you know you can fly already.

[nofortunateson]

[Before Taylor can make it off the edge, Gabriel puts out a hand, blocking his path.]

-hang on. I want to try something.

[His eyes flick down and away a few times, estimating distances and geometry he hasn't really tried to remember for a few years now. But- yeah, that should do it, and with a restless uncurling flick of his fingers that he's pretty sure isn't actually necessary but sure as hell makes it easier, a long, shallow dome of shield snaps into place, from the edge of the shallow roof down to the ground a distance away.

He shoots a quick, self-assured grin at Taylor, then steps back enough to get a running start. The shield holds him until the curve is too much for his running feet, and then he's flung forward and sliding on his seat the rest of the way down, crowing in triumph.]

[goddamngrenades]

...Okay?

[ That's usually his line, to be honest. But slide and skid down Gabe does and, heh, it looks fun. Why the hell not? Taylor takes a half step back to give himself a running start and springs for the edge, running till he's on the shield and sliding down on his ass like a goddamn teenager. ]

Okay- [ Between crackling, breathless laughter. ] Okay. Little you is fun.

[nofortunateson]

And North Dakota isn't?

[He's still grinning himself, and dispels the shield with a flick of his fingers, lifting high enough into the air to follow Taylor whenever he zooms off toward his place. Hard to imagine he gets that boring, especially with Lindsay around. Then again, the future is unknowable and no man happy till he dies and all that Intro to English Lit classic themes kind of stuff.

He's more inclined to just believe that Taylor's being a jackass again, though.]

[goddamngrenades]

He's usually the one telling me 'York no, York don't, York that's a bad goddamn idea.' and trying to reign me and Linds in. Keep us from doing something stupid. You know, team dad.

[ York flies in an idle spiral, large and lazy, circling Gabe on the Y axis as they make their way along. Forest gives way to grassland and the ripple in the air is palpable- the chill and overcast skies promising some kind of storm on the horizon a sharp change from the comfortable ease of Gabe's habitat.

Sloping hills that are low and easy cut through with a winding road that goes up from a Small little bar to a Ranch Style house- hewn wood and large windows. ]

[nofortunateson]

You thought I shouldn't have a beer, you know. I'm not really convinced of your judgment just yet.

[The new environment comes into view and he gives a low whistle, scanning the landscape with interest. It's vaguely unfamiliar, and in a more pervasive way than the house in the woods was.]

Where's this?

[goddamngrenades]

I'm from America. Kids usually don't drink beer.

[ York arcs twoards the ground, flipping around so he lands foot first on the front porch. He fiddles with his back pocket till he finds a keychain (yes a real oldschool one) and a key (yep) to unlock the front door. ]

This? Is my place. You hang out here sometimes, but mostly? I go to your place.

[nofortunateson]

Because the weather's better?

[He touches down a little more slowly and further back, ambling up the walkway and steps as he studies the place intently. This is still all new to him, and he's always been one to try to figure out the answer first even if it's going to be handed to him.]

[goddamngrenades]

You've got better beer.

[ He pops the door open, waving Gabe inside. It's not as plush as the house he'd woken up in, worn furniture, hardwood floors, frayed rug. Details that show it's lived in and comfortable, cozy. He can't settle with something too new all that comfortably. ]

Make yourself at home.

[nofortunateson]

Thanks.

[Shoes come off on habit - that white-carpet upbringing at work - and he pads inside, opting to follow Taylor presumably to the kitchen rather than flop on the couch and see what's on TV.]

Do all the superheroes get . . . what did you call it. A habitat?

[Creepy, but sure, if that's the verbage then fine.]

[goddamngrenades]

Yep. I mean we get quarters too, shit that's like a regular barracks- but I like living here better. Kinda had my fill of that during the war and especially on the Mother of Invention.

[ A bigass ship with too little heat and too much ambition. He toes off his boots at the front door, leaving them there while he heads into the kitchen. A slab of beef (real deal, he got lucky), and- what was that shit he'd looked at the other day? Gingersnaps? ]

Beer's in the fridge, I think I got some of what you like in there.

[nofortunateson]

No, this is a good deal. Fly around, save the world from the bad guys, come back home and make some pancakes . . .

[He reaches into the fridge and takes two bottles, handing the first one open to Taylor.]

So, uh. We win the war and start some kind of justice league thing? Or how does the whole soldiers-to-superheroes transition work, here.

[goddamngrenades]

Well...this ain't our universe for one. We win the war, shit goes down...a lot of shit goes down.

[ Shit he's not gonna go over with teenie North. Putting the dish together is- well he has Delta look up the recipe as his hands work, slow and careful. ]

We kinda got pulled into another dimension where we became superheros. Hence the powers and stuff.

[nofortunateson]

I guess it beats getting jacked up with some kind of super-science.

[He looks over Taylor's shoulder at what he's doing, curious.]

Anything I can do to help?

[goddamngrenades]

That still kinda happens. It's a long, weird story.

[ One that's sad and bittersweet, really. ]

Uh, sure. You can cube the beef?

[nofortunateson]

[Gabriel gives him an uncertain look, but goes for the knife block anyway, opting for a long chef's knife and setting it down next to the sink as he goes to wash his hands.]

Sure. How big?

[goddamngrenades]

Bout an inch on each side.

[ He measures out the rest of what he needs, gets a skillet going. ]

Doesn't have to be perfect, either. This is home cook'n, it's never perfect.

[nofortunateson]

What are you making?

[He sets to cubing the beef as directed, methodical if not the most efficient in his technique. He doesn't have a ton of experience making anything involved enough to require raw meat anywhere in the preparation.]

[goddamngrenades]

My notes say 'gingerbread beef' but I think it's...Saurbraten?

[ He mangles the pronunciation but that's nothing new. German's not his language of choice. ]

[nofortunateson]

Sauerbraten?

[He looks down at the beef he's been chopping, then carefully leans over and gives it a sniff, placing familiar flavors in the sharp, vinegar tang of the marinade now that he's looking for it.]

Geez. You have to marinade this for days, right?